As a Lego Robotics Judge, I Cried

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The other day I was a mock judge for my eleven-year-old neighbor’s Lego robotics project. Because I’ve become the neighborhood’s child whisperer, I’m asked to step in to do my whispering in various capacities. Weeks ago, I was a practice judge for science fair presentations. Now I’ve been promoted to Lego robotics assessor.

Regarding Lego robotics, I know as much about robotics as you know about the biological anthropology of garden gnomes. The good news is that you could be a judge for a garden gnome competition. It’s not that difficult. You just need to ask sensible questions.

Before my shift as a judge began, I got prepped in the driveway by my young neighbor’s dad, who’d hired me earlier. My total compensation for this consulting gig was a packet of lettuce seeds the mom gave me when I was finished because she’d gotten a gift from someone and was sharing the wealth. I’ll take what I can get.

I went to the back of the house to a room where a long, low table was sitting with five kids surrounding it and a Lego obstacle course set upon it.

“Hi everyone,” I said to the group. They sheepishly eked out hello. I knew I’d have to win their trust in a short time, so I worked that angle with an open voice and face, and curious questions about their project. Gradually, the kids started to trust me and began to speak freely and share their thoughtful considerations. I love that moment between people.

I wish you could have seen their earnest faces. Five very different personalities explaining their group dynamics, the evolution of their robot, and the hopes they had for their team in the future. I was shocked at how articulate and invested they were in this competition. They were eleven!

That’s when the tears started to well up inside me and I worked to keep them at bay. I was falling madly in love with these kids. I was falling in love with the best of humanity.

First, they did a timed run of their robot through the obstacle course, which it did in record time. Elation burst through the room — high-fives, woohoos.

Then it was my turn. I asked a series of questions regarding the challenges they’d overcome, how they worked together as a team, and what they’d have done differently.

Then I asked, “How would you improve upon this robot in the future?” Each kid took turns sharing their ideas about the next possible iteration of this colorful compilation of Lego parts. This is when the topic of sensors was raised. If they could incorporate a type of sensor that would work properly within the competition limitations, then maybe they could create better efficiency.

That’s when it dawned on me, oh gosh, this is exactly what my son has been doing for the last year and a half in college. His robotics work is what these newborn engineers have just been born into. I asked the team if they’d like to see a short video of something and they all eagerly agreed.

I moved over to the couch stretched along one side of the table. The kids crowded around. I searched quickly on my phone for a short overview video of the Indy Autonomous Challenge.

“This is what you are in the beginning stages of, Team,” I said to them, “This is a problem that has yet to be solved, and which college teams have been invited to work on. What they’re trying to do is get a race car to drive at high speeds autonomously. No drivers, just computer code like you’re learning to do.”

I explained that radar and lidar sensors are used to detect another car or a nearby wall as the car drives 135 mph.

“This is exactly what you’re trying to do, too, but at lower speeds.” They were stunned.

We all watched it together. There were snippets of college students discussing their cars. There was footage of the cars on an Indy racetrack and of cars crashing. I told them the racecars had regular setbacks because it was a hard problem to solve — something they were learning right here on their own obstacle course.

There was a lot of, “Whoa” and “Cool!”

It was extremely difficult for me not to cry through this. It was a moving documentary of raw inspiration playing in front of me.

At one point, I asked each person to share a contribution they were most proud of having made to the project. The conversation went around the room, with each budding engineer coming to the question honestly. Their eyes and faces said, “I added value.” Their spirit was a template for my best possible world.

I hope I gave those kids half as much as they gave me that day. It was an hour and a half of a forever gift.

Thank you, kids. Go, Legos!